“there was a time i couldn’t make an egg,” he said
over a couple Miller Hi Lifes, cheap champagne
resting in the retro bottle, slim necks wearing
black vests fitting for large mouths made, at times, for frowns. she hadn’t showered
in half a carton of days, her hair a place birds would take baths in,
burnt and brown and scrambled. her skin, greasy enough to fry an egg on. if you don’t act at all, that’s worse than acting the wrong way.
crack an egg against the side of a bowl,
work a fork, make a lather of the mucus.any plan is better than not having a plan.
always have an onion, a carton of milk.
can you hear the hens howling,
the chickens cheering?it’s all about the small victories.
it is 9:07 AM. leave the skillet
touting smoke & success behind.
go on. sleep until 2.